


Grisha Trilogy Scraps

by Ahab2631



Series: Grisha Remix [5]
Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: AU of an AU, Alina "sneaks" off the palace grounds, Alina calls the Darkling and ass. To his face. BEFORE the betrayal., Alina finds Sturmhond and asks for a job, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, And it's so adorable I could die, And now apparently we do Q & A too, Awkward Ivan walks in on Alina and the Darkling, Because I have hormones like a human person that's why, Because friendship, But Classy-Like, But probably only because I don't know Sturmhond very well yet, DL liking sweets and animals and being kind to kids btw is totally canon, DL may actually legitimately murder Sturmhond when this is over, Darkling: GDI Baghra you told Alina WHAT?, F/M, Hey Darkling you're super sad and stuff so let's have dinner, Hm what could this fancy red book be for?, I like writing Sturmhond almost as much as I like writing Nikolai, I said we were renegotiating Alina. Guh. Keep up., I'll be certain you hear it when I make her scream, Letter(s) to Mal, Mom: the only person who can bring out an actual personality, Nikolai time!, Oh the Darkling likes animals too, POV The Darkling, Sexy Times, Softcore Porn, Srs I'm super entertaining, Stupid tracker I HATE YOU, The Darkling POV, The Darkling likes sweets, The Darkling listens to Mal's love confession before the Stag walks in, The Darkling totally flirts, Up against a wall AND on a desk, Yes I'm super smart I'm like a million years old, and it's really hot, potential out of character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-08-27 02:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8383858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahab2631/pseuds/Ahab2631
Summary: Bits and pieces from my Grisha trilogy rewrites - currently Light and Steel, with Crown and Call in progress.Discarded scenes, OOC stuff, POV changes, etc.  I'll post where each scrap fits into the story so you can avoid spoilers, and won't normally add anything until its corresponding story chapter is up.Additional tags will be added as I come up with more things that will go here.Comments always welcome - outside eyes are valuable things.





	1. Alina's First Letter to Mal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From chapter nine; the letter Alina writes on her first morning in Os Alta

_Mal,_

_I'm sorry I haven't written you before now – I just arrived yesterday, at the Little Palace. Turns out I'm not to be executed or anything, so that's nice. There's so much I want to tell you, but I'm not sure what I'm supposed to keep to myself. Then again, if someone's worried about spies finding out, it's a little late for that._

_We traveled the Vy, stopping only to change horses. A few days in, we were attacked. Fjerdan assassins, sent just for me. Had there been a doubt in my mind before that I was the center of the universe, it has since been erased. I earned some impressive bruises, too. After that, we took horses and traveled hunting roads. I would have written you the minute I got here, but I collapsed into unconsciousness as soon as I got to my room – My. Own. Room. - on literally the softest bed I can imagine. Remember those days in spring when the moss was soft in the meadow and we used to fall asleep on it? How we snuck out there to sleep on hot nights because it was so much more comfortable than the beds in the dormitories anyway? It reminds me of that. But after so many years of sleeping on cots and bedrolls, it wasn't the best night of sleep I've ever had._

_Because of the mattress._  

_And no other reason._

_I got woken yesterday evening by the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. That black-haired Grisha you took a liking to in Kribirsk? No kidding, this woman makes her look like Ana Kuya in a night dress and cap the morning after she stayed up with the servants drinking too much kvas. Genya, her name is, wiped away my bruises (a Grisha) and then, Mal. . . they took me to meet the King. And then the Queen. I'll tell you how that went when I see you next. Which will be soon, Mal. I don't know how, but we'll find a way. Remember what you said on the steps that last night in Kribirsk, after I asked if Mikhael would be buying the drinks? I would give anything for that to be true now._

_They tell me I'm to close the Shadow Fold. I told them they're insane, but everyone seems determined to ignore good sense. Hopefully they'll be able to see the humor when all of this goes horribly and inevitably wrong._

_I wish you were here. We got into Os Alta yesterday and it's early morning now, and I've already seeing things I want to show you, met people I want to tell you about. I want to talk everything through with you and see what you think. I feel lost, Mal. This isn't the longest I've gone without seeing you, but it feels like I'm a world away from you. And from everything. And suddenly everyone knows about me. It's this tremendous relief and at the same time it's really disconcerting. It's like I'm overjoyed and terrified, like half the time I want to shout because I'm so happy that I can just_ be, _but the rest of the time. . . . I think part of me is waiting for someone to swoop down and take me away at any moment. Except they already have._

_Are you ok? When I left, you were in bad shape. The captain ordered you healed on the skiff (that famous reputation of yours – bastard probably just wanted your help picking up women on the back end), but I guess the survivors got pulled to that Saints-forsaken tent before she could get to you. I wanted to hit someone, watching you go pale in there while everyone was standing around being useless. Speaking of useless, that Grisha you liked? Pick better next time, Mal. I wanted to hit her by the second time she laughed in there._

_Mostly I just wanted to hit anything until the world started making sense again. I don't think that's going to work now, though._

_Please be ok, Mal. And please don't hate me. I couldn't let you die. Everyone else. . . I would have. I did. (I had nightmares about it for most of the journey. Now my nightmares. . . well, they're of other things.) But not you._ _Write when you can, ok? This place is going to drive me mad without you to help everything make sense._ _Seriously._

 _Write back or I'll think you hate me, then I'll have to throw myself from a tower and we'll all be doomed to the Shadow Fold for all time. BE PATRIOTIC, MAL._ _I miss you._

 _Love,_  
_A_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers to Bardugo's Grisha short "The Tailor" in the comments.


	2. Alina Sneaks Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally belonged to the chapter in which we meet Zoya at the Little Palace.
> 
> An unfinished scene which has been orphaned. There's some stuff in here which will probably end up being non- _Light and Steel_ canon.
> 
> This didn't work for a few reasons, a couple of which will probably be obvious. But I enjoyed. . .well you'll see. Read it for yourself.

Setup: Alina asked for and was denied permission to go frolicking about town on her own. As we all know, frolicking is a grumpcat's favorite pastime.

  
  
I wasn't an especially patient person, and I had grown tired of waiting on letters from Mal and worrying over why they weren't coming.  The possibilities were few: either he wasn't writing me back, his letters weren't getting here, or my letters weren't getting there.  I thought about speaking to Genya, but the idea was too embarrassing.  I didn't think she wasn't smart enough to know where to drop a letter, and I didn't want to talk openly enough about Mal to explain why it was so important to me.  I still had that nagging feeling that he was something to be kept away from my life here, something special, and I didn't want the two worlds to meet.  All the same, there weren't many things I could do.  So that morning, instead of having breakfast and going to the library as I should have, I pocketed my most recent letter to Mal, bent the light away from myself, and went for a walk.

I retraced the path we had taken the day I'd met the king, and then the road that led to the lower city.  When I got within sight of the gates, it was to find them closed and flanked by two guards.  I ducked around a corner and made myself visible again, then walked toward the two large, heavily armed men with a warm smile.  I moved confidently as if I expected them to open the gates for me without hesitation.  

“We have orders you're not to leave the grounds, miss,” one of the men said in a low, rumbling voice when I drew near.  He was stocky, wide, and had a closely-cropped black beard.

“I'm not leaving the grounds, am I?  I just want to go to the market.”  I said in a perfect imitation of innocence.

“The _palace_ grounds, miss.”

“Oh I see, I see.”  I took a deep breath.  “May I ask you a question?”

He nodded, as calm as if he had conversations with Sun Summoners every morning.

“What color am I wearing?” I asked sweetly.

“What. . .black, miss,” he answered, clearly confused.

“And are you used to saying no to people in black keftas?  I might worry after your health if so.  Did you know the Darkling can cut people in half?  I've seen it, it's very frightening.  Just a wave of an arm and-” I made a slicing motion through the air with one hand.  “Have you seen it?  I bet you have.  You're obviously good at your job, you take it seriously, you're very strong.  I bet he has you travel with him often.  Even so, I'll bet you haven't seen what enough light can do to a person.  Have you heard the story of how I was discovered?  I burned a volcra in light so hot that it was ash within moments.  Didn't even have a chance to scream.  I can't cut a person in half, but I did burn a hole clear through an elk on a hunting trip once.  I'm betting I'll be safe on a quick trip to the market.  I'll just pop out and pop back in, there and back before you know it.”  I smiled at the man brightly.

He had paled considerably.  His fellow guard said “whatever you need miss, we can have it brought for you.”

“I know, and that's so very kind, but the thing is, if I don't get out of here to stretch my legs, I'm going to go mad.  My studies are suffering, and all I want is to close the Shadow Fold as quickly as possible.  We all want that.  And right now, believe it or not, nothing in the world would help more in reaching that goal than a change of scenery.  And I swear I heard that I wasn't allowed to leave the <i>city,</i> not that I was confined to the palace grounds.  Since the prevailing understanding is that a black kefta comes in second only to the King, perhaps we should consult the King of Ravka as to whether or not the streets of his capital are safe enough for a lone Grisha to spend half an hour walking around.  Oh, but we shouldn't disturb him, I'm being ridiculous.”  I laughed.  “I could fetch the Darkling, instead!  I think he's in a meeting, so he might not be in the best mood, but I'm sure he won't mind, if it's to correct someone who's just following orders as they ought to.”  I smiled brightly at each man in turn.

The guards looked at each other, and the bearded one spoke.  “You'll be quick?”

I fought down the urge to cheer.  “As a bird,” I assured him.  “In fact if you'd like, I'll even take a guard or two with me.  That wouldn't be a bad idea, right?  And I'd be happy to do it if it will make you feel better.”

The big man looked immensely relieved.  “Yes, miss, thank you.  I'll go and fetch someone.”

 

Once we were well into the city, I headed toward the first crowd I saw, using it to separate myself from the guard and duck around the side of a building.  I bent the light away from myself, pulled my kefta over my head, untied the sash around my waist, and bundled them together tightly, stashing them behind a bush.  I felt bad for leaving the guard, but if I was fast enough, I could find him again and rejoin him before he called the whole guard down on me.

Military post went out every morning from important cities and outposts.  I ran toward the gates.  I had planned to wait for the post riders there, but either they were early or I had taken longer talking my way through the gates than I had thought, because when I reached the city gates, a pair of riders in uniform were passing through them on horseback.  I surreptitiously felt their saddlebags until I came across one that seemed to be filled with letters and scrolls.  With a quick prayer, I tucked my letter in with the rest and turned on my heel to race back to where I'd lost my guard.  
  
  
Epilogue: she reunites with the guard, crisis is averted, but there was a small panic "Oh Saints, oh Saints, I've lost the Sun Summoner."  "HOW DO YOU LOSE THE SUN SUMMONER?"  "I DON'T KNOW!  She was just there, and then she wasn't!"  
  
But anyway she shows back up.  Word of the mild, shortlived panic did of course reach the Darkling, and so he and Alina had a "talk."

 

 


	3. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Would have gone before the winter fete.
> 
> An insert I couldn't fit into the overall story well enough to make it work. There are some insights into the Darkling I'm sorry to see go, but it couldn't be helped.
> 
> Still needed some work, so has some OOC stuff, differences in writing style, and some things that aren't polished well.

We spent the rest of the afternoon trying on dresses and goggling at ourselves in the mirror—two activities I never would have expected to enjoy. Three, if you counted the fact that I finally found myself in a genuine friendship with another woman. We lost track of time, and Genya had to help me scramble out of an aquamarine ball gown and back into my kefta so that I could hurry down to the lake for my evening lesson with Baghra. On my way I passed near enough to the stables that I felt someone there through my net: the Darkling.

I hesitated. If I stopped, I would definitely be late for my lesson. On the other hand, I'd only had two conversations with him since I'd gotten here months ago. I rolled my eyes at myself - as if I even had to think about it. Baghra was already mad at me half the time as it was.

He was standing at one of the stalls, gently stroking the muzzle of a horse with a white blaze on its forehead and speaking to it in a soft voice.

It was entrancing - I had never seen him like this. He looked gentle, and quiet, but not the sort of watchful, authoritative quiet he usually exuded. He looked almost peaceful. Watching him, I could actually believe he was a normal man.

“Baghra hates it when people are late, you know.” He said loudly.

I jumped, then huffed a laugh and approached. “How did you know I was here?”

“It's very difficult to sneak up on me.”

"How terribly surprising."

He was scratching the horse's head now, watching its face, and I saw it close its eyes. He gave it a gentle pat and turned to me. "Your lesson?"

"Ah," I said sheepishly. "I was on my way."

"But you stopped to see the horses?" he asked with the slight arch of one brow.

"I stopped to see you, actually."

"How did you know I was here?"

I felt a confused expression spread over my face. He seemed to know everything – did he not know what I could do? "I don't have a mysterious remark about situational awareness prepared, sadly. But I could offer an idea as consolation."

One corner of his mouth twitched, and he nodded for me to go on.

I cleared my throat quietly, suddenly feeling very nervous. "I've been thinking, and. . .we should have dinner.”

"Dinner?" 

"Yes. It's a tradition among my people involving food taken late in the day. Sometimes people even do it in groups. You know, when they want to be edgy."

He regarded me coolly. It was hard not to squirm under the look.

“I don't know why you put me in this color,” I explained. “I haven't been able to figure out if it was a political maneuver or if it was for show or if it was something else, but as long as I'm wearing it, I have every intention of exploiting it pitilessly. . . .And you seem lonely.”

His slate eyes studied me. “What makes you say that?”

I rolled my eyes. “It's lonely at the top? You wanted me to spend time with other Grisha, so I have been, but all I've really seen is that in this color, no one sees you as a person. And I haven't even done anything to earn it yet. I'm not in charge of anyone. You, though, are the second most powerful person in the country, at least on paper. And I don't really see you spilling your darkest secrets to the king and Ivan over kvas and tea cakes. . . .Which come to think of it sounds like a horrible flavor combination.” I made a face.

“The second most powerful person on paper?”

I shrugged. “He may have political power, but. . . ." I shifted uncomfortably. "Well, give me more time and I'm sure I'll be as casual about speaking treason as you and Genya seem to be.”

He seemed regard me seriously. “Are you after my secrets then, Alina?”

I hesitated, uncertain. Then I snorted. “One hundred and twenty years worth of a Darkling's secrets? No bloody thank you. It was just an expression. You're old, I'm sure you've heard it a few times. I just mean. . ." I sighed. I really was terribly bad at this. "You should be able to rest once in a while. Be yourself. Gripe to somebody about that one idiot captain who never stops screwing up, or some stupid thing Ivan said last Tuesday. At the very least, you should be able to spend time, once in a while, around someone who you don't have to be in Formal Commander Mode around all the time. I figure since we wear matching clothes, I'm maybe your best shot. And if I didn't know you could kill me with a gesture, I might express my sincere pity over the fact that I'm who you're stuck with. So we have a meal together now and again, during which you relax. I hear it's a thing that people do, supposed to be very good for you. Therapeutic. Important, even. I have Genya - she doesn't treat me like a color. . . .But who do you have?”

He smiled outright. “You talk a good deal when you're nervous. It's something you'll need to work on.”

I flushed crimson. “I'm not nervous! And here I thought you were good at reading people.”

“And you're terrible at lying on the spot. I find myself wondering how you kept hidden so long.”

I gaped. “Was that a _joke?”_

The corners of his mouth twitched. I grinned until I realized what he was doing and shook my head. “You're trying to distract me. It won't work. I'm very determined. . . .Usually. When I want to be.”

"If I wanted you to lose your train of thought, Alina, I could think of better ways.”

There was something in his face that made me falter. He wasn't. . .flirting? The smile dropped from my face and I swallowed thickly. There was a fluttery, warm feeling low in my stomach. No. No, that was insane. This was the Darkling.

I cleared my throat, suddenly not confident in my voice. “Ok, so, I do have a lesson to get to, as you pointed out, and if I'm any later she might actually murder me, which would mean I've done all this work for nothing. But I'll leave you with two thoughts. One: this is an open invitation, and I meant it very seriously. . . .I think it would be good for you.” I felt idiotic saying it to someone who was nearly five times my age, but I still thought it was true.

“And the second?” He prompted when I didn't speak.

I smiled, a brattish grin. “You can be kind of an ass.”

I was still laughing at the expression on his face as I neared the lake and found Baghra standing at its edge, waiting for me. She was furious.


	4. “I’ll be certain you hear it when I make her scream.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cut reason: OOC. So very, very OOC.

At dusk, when another day had come and gone, the Darkling would parade me across the deck and down through the hatch directly in front of Mal. We weren’t permitted to speak. I tried to hold his gaze, to give him a smile, to tell him silently that I was all right, but I could see his fury and desperation growing, and I was powerless to reassure him.

Once, when the ship pitched sharply and I stumbled by the hatch, the Darkling caught me up against himself. He might have let me go, but he lingered, and before I could pull away, he let his hand graze the small of my back.

Mal surged forward, and it was only the grip of his guards that kept him from charging the Darkling.

“Three more days, tracker,” he said, his eyes never leaving me.

“Leave her alone,” Mal snarled.

“I’ve kept my end of the bargain. She’s still unharmed. But perhaps that isn’t what you fear?”

Mal looked frayed to the point of snapping. His face was pale, his mouth a taut line, the muscles of his forearms knotted as he strained against his bonds. I couldn’t bear it.

“I’m fine,” I said softly, risking the Darkling’s reprisal. “He won't touch me. He can’t hurt me.” It was a lie, but it felt good on my lips. I only prayed the Darkling wouldn't think of it as a challenge.

He looked from me to Mal, and I glimpsed that bleak, yawning fissure within him. “Don’t worry, tracker. You’ll know when our deal is up.” He shoved me belowdecks, but not before I heard his parting words to Mal: “I’ll be certain you hear it when I make her scream.”  
  


 

I sat across the desk from him as he worked in silence. This was mostly how we passed the time down here. I knew the point was to unnerve Mal, not to have conversations. So it surprised me when he spoke, though he didn't look up from the papers he was reading.

“You could always give him extra motivation now, Alina.”

My eyes narrowed. “You said we had a week.”

“I did. And I'll keep my word. That doesn't mean you and I can't renegotiate the terms.”

I waited.

A smile spread across his lips. He set the stack of papers down, folded his hands on the desk, and looked up at me. “Cry out, Alina. Make it convincing and I won't harm you when his time is up.”

“You're disgusting,” I hissed. I didn't believe for a moment that what he wanted Mal to hear was a sound of pain.

“I've been called worse by you.”

I shook my head.

He watched me for a moment, then leaned back with a small sigh. “Very well. When the time is up, I'll skin him instead of you.”

I jumped up from my chair. “You just said you'd keep your word!”

“I said we were renegotiating the terms.”

I glared at him, furious. His expression remained cool.

“. . . I can't.” I said, my voice bitter with resentment. I felt my cheeks flush.

“No? I would have expected you to be more eager to protect the tracker. You certainly have been before. But it wouldn't be the first time I've been wrong about you.”

“No." I couldn't meet his eyes, anger warring with mortification. “I _can't_. I don't. . .know how.” It wasn't as if I'd never known pleasure of my own making, but neither had I had a wealth of privacy in my life, or lived places where I could make noise. And for all I knew, it sounded different when it was two people, anyway.

I saw his eyes widen slightly, before the surprise was replaced with something else.

“You and the tracker were alone for weeks.” His voice was frightening in its quiet.

I shrugged a shoulder. “Not really.” I wouldn't look at him.

And now magically we're standing up and we're near a wall. Watever. CREATIVE LICENSE.

I heard the smallest intake of breath, a beat passed, and then his lips were on mine, so soft they were almost gentle. Almost. His desire flooded me through our connection, and so did a wave of possessiveness that was almost staggering.

I went rigid. I grabbed fistfuls of kefta at his chest, intending to push him away. But his hands came up to rest on either side of my neck, thumbs stroking my jaw once, and my grip loosened. He pulled my bottom lip into his mouth. A small gasp escaped me, and he swept his tongue in between my parted lips. I couldn't say how long the kiss was, only that it quickly mounted in urgency, and that I did nothing to fight it.

I barely registered him picking me up, held tightly against him, and carrying me across the cabin to sit me on the desk. He parted my legs as he stepped forward, guiding them to wrap around his hips. On impulse or instinct, I hooked my ankles behind him. I gasped when he took the final small step forward and I felt the press of him between my thighs. Involuntarily, I rocked my pelvis against him with a choked moan, half strangled in my throat.

His fingers dug into my sides. He kissed behind my ear, under my jaw, working his way down my neck with lips and tongue and teeth. “Mine,” he said, his cool voice so rough that it sent a tremor down my spine. “You are mine, Alina.”

I gripped him roughly and an angry sound came from my chest. I shook my head. _”Mine.”_

A sound somewhere between a growl and a moan came from him and his hands tightened painfully on my waist.

He had misunderstood. I hadn't meant that he was mine, too. I had meant that I belonged to _myself,_ not him.

He pulled me hard against his body, and abruptly I lost the sense of urgency I had felt to clarify, and the breath and presence of mind to do it.

A sharp knock came from the door and he started, breathing hard. I dropped my legs quickly, but almost immediately he returned to me, gripping my thighs to lift them back up and sweeping aside the collar of my shirt to kiss along my shoulder. My head fell back with a whimper.

The knock came again, more urgent.

He lifted his mouth from my skin just long enough to snap “What?” before resuming the string of kisses he was trailing over my skin.

The door opened, Ivan on the other side. I jerked back instantly, but to my horror, the Darkling didn't move. He stopped kissing me, but his head remained bent over my shoulder and his mouth was so close to my skin that I could feel his heated breath. He turned slowly, and the look I saw on his face nearly turned my blood to ice.

Ivan quickly took in the scene, and actually paled when the Darkling turned his gaze on the big man. I almost felt sorry for him. The Darkling still showed no interest in moving, so I tried to pull my legs against myself and angle them to one side so I could get down, but he wouldn't loosen his grip enough to allow me the space to pull away.

“Sturmhond,” Ivan rumbled, and I didn't think I had ever seen him look uncomfortable before. “He wants to speak to you. He was insistent.”

The Darkling turned back to me, pressed a lingering kiss to my neck as he inhaled deeply, then made what sounded like a low, quiet growl, and swept out of the room without a backwards glance. I was genuinely afraid for the captain.

Ivan managed to recover enough to smirk at me as he moved to follow.

“Oh cram it, Happy,” I snapped. “I didn't exactly mean for that to happen.”

He closed the door behind him and I heard heard the lock click into place.


	5. "Starkov is gone."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As requested! <3
> 
> Darkling POV on finding Alina's 'hey screw you, a**hole, I'm leaving' letter, and what follows, up to the stag ambush. Vignette style.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ptichye moloko ("bird's milk"): It's a cake. But instead of cake and filling, it's all marshmallow, with a very thin layer of cake under it and a little bit of chocolate atop it. 
> 
> The boy likes sweets. 
> 
> It's cannon. And it's so adorable I could die.
> 
> Note re DL's thought process: the guy's f*****g ancient. All this stuff is going through him at the speed of instinct, flashes of gut feeling and training and conditioning, but I didn't know how to convey that _and_ all the information that was flying through his brainmeats so. . .blame him for the wordiness. Not me. I am an innocent bystander with very little training.

A knock at the door. Firm and sure, but almost hesitant. Ivan. Nervous Ivan.

The Darkling took his time finishing his bite of ptichye moloko before calling Ivan in. He didn't have to look up to see the tension in the man's body. Whatever his Second had to say, he wasn't going to like it.

He flipped to the next page of the report on his desk and continued reading.

“Moi soverenyi.” Ivan bowed sharply, but quickly. Something urgent, then. “Starkov is gone.”

Amusement rolled through him and he allowed one corner of his mouth to twitch up. “Another foray into the market?” Alina was nothing if not determined. It was a trait he could admire, properly tempered. But given enough time, she would give up on her tracker. And _he_ was nothing if not patient.

“No, soverenyi.” He did look up then, at the tone of Ivan's voice. His Second walked forward and held out a small piece of parchment, unevenly folded in half. The Darkling set down his papers and opened the letter. It was short and written in a hand that was either very sloppy or very rushed. He quickly scanned its contents.

He went very still. He read the letter again, more slowly.

 

 _I found out about the stag's antlers in a book I imagine you never intended for me to find. I_  
_know what would happen if you were to give them to me –_ all _of what would happen._  
_That was why I went to you tonight. I needed to know if my trust was misplaced._  
_I heard you talking to Ivan after I left your quarters._  
_You won't find me, and I'm not coming back._

 

The Darkling stared at the words a moment longer, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Suddenly her nervousness and tear-streaked face the night before took on a new meaning. Foolish, foolish girl. If she had only come to him, he could have explained. But she had run.

He re-folded the letter and pocketed it as he left his bed chamber at a brusque pace. “When was she last seen?”

Ivan followed close behind as the Darkling slipped through the passage that led from the war room to the upper quarters. “Last night, when I saw her headed upstairs.”

“You read the letter?”

“Da, soverenyi.”

He didn't have to ask if anyone else had – Ivan would know better. The man was hot-headed and arrogant, but he anticipated the Darkling well and was no fool.

“Wake the Oprichniki. Give me three to go through her room. Close the library and put people on it. I want to know exactly what she found and where she found it. Send the rest to every town and village to look for her, groups of no more than three – start along the Vy, spread further out as needed. Assume she had late last night through this evening to travel, either on foot, wagon, or horseback. She'll likely know better than to keep to the main road, but she'll have to stop for supplies eventually, and I want nothing overlooked. Be absolutely clear that they are to be discreet – no one outside of the Oprichniki is to know she's missing. Find out if any horses were stolen or bought anywhere in the city or nearby late last night.”

“Should we question the gate guards?”

The Darkling shook his head. “If they had seen anything suspicious, it already would have been reported. Hundreds of people left the city between last night and this afternoon, and with her ability to go unseen, there is no point.”

They reached her room and the Darkling opened the doors. It smelled very faintly of smoke. The reservoir in one of the lamps was empty – it had burned out, likely some time this morning. The bed had not been slept in, and nothing was out of place. The Darkling turned to his Second. “How was this not noticed?”

A muscle in the man's jaw twitched. “Meals were delivered, but when she wasn't seen in the hall for breakfast or lunch, her room was checked. A servant was stationed outside, claiming she was ill. He's being questioned now.”

Alina was no fool, but she was young, naive, and trusting, and would have been too upset over what she had heard to think clearly enough to put all of this together at a moment's notice. She had a temper - her departure had been a reaction, not a plan.

She had spent years in the military, so she knew what it took to survive on the move; if she truly planned on running, she wouldn't have done so in a silk dress with no supplies. She would have been hard pressed at best to put together what she would need in order to travel in the small hours of the morning, if she even knew where to go for clothing, gear, never mind planning to cover her absence. . . .

Someone had helped her.

He pulled her note out and scanned it again, but it gave no new information.

“She's been seen talking to no one new?”

“No, soverenyi.”

"Question the kitchen staff,” he said. “Find out if food was taken or has gone missing, and check stores for any supplies or travel gear taken. Go back six months.”

Neither would likely lead to anything, but every once in a while, even the most careful of enemies made mistakes.

“Understood. What do you want the other Grisha told when they start asking after her?”

The Darkling thought for a moment. “Tell them she's gone into seclusion as part of her training.” He stood then, thinking. Ivan waited without a word.

Alina was not weak. She was not a coward. By all accounts, she had a strong sense of right and wrong and equally strong opposition to social injustice. She loathed being told what to do, though she knew, for the most part, when to comply without argument. She had not been hungry to exercise the authority he had given her, but neither did she hesitate to do so when it suited her. She protected a heart that still harbored kindness so well that he doubted she even knew she was doing it. She reveled in her power, and had bloomed when she discovered its well ran deeper than she had known. She wanted to help. And she abhorred misuses of power.

. . . .Alina was not going to run. She was going to go after the stag. She would not abandon that sort of power. She would call it duty or obligation or whatever else she needed to in order to justify it, but she would not run and hide when she believed she could stand and fight. Even once he had discovered her in Kribursk, once she knew her secret was over, she had preferred to put on a show of strength rather than go quietly.

He wondered how deadly she was. He knew she had applications of her power that he wasn't aware of, but could she use it to efficiently kill the stag?

The tracker she had mooned after was the very one who had found the herd after all the centuries the Darkling had searched. Perhaps she would meet up with him. . . .

Acrid, caustic anger rolled through him. He wanted to believe that they had been planning this, but knew it was impossible. Alina's every communication was monitored. She had tried to send a small mountain of letters in her first months here, all to the boy, but not one had come for her.

“The tracker who found the stag.” The Darkling paused. Ivan waited patiently. “Get his unit on her. Have him track her down. I don't care what you have to tell them. If the boy can find Morozova’s herd, he can find one lone girl wandering Ravka.

“Focus the Oprichniki on the settlements in the direction of Tsibeya, but keep some stationed in the major towns and cities along the Vy. Take no chances that she'll be missed. Have them check merchants for purchases of travel rations and hunting supplies. Inquire with our quartermaster. And send our team north as planned. Have them ready to move at any moment. Go.”

Ivan pressed a fist to his chest and left, his shoulders and jaw tense but his pace and expression measured to give nothing away to anyone he might pass.

The Darkling walked into the room and slowly began scanning its contents. A small mirror. A pot of ink and a pair of winter gloves on the desk. Drawers empty but for clothing and writing supplies. But it smelled of her. That curious scent that was almost a sensation as much as it was a smell, something warm and inviting, like sun through a window, or summer in the branches of an orchard.

He clenched one of his fists until the knuckles went white. Foolish, stupid girl.

He made his way to one of the dressers near her bed. He expected to find it empty like all the others. She kept nothing of herself in this room, had changed nothing, collected nothing. The habit of a person to whom nothing had ever belonged, and nothing lasted long enough to garner attachment. Possessions could be taken. Better to put your stock in things others considered invisible, inconsequential. Better to put your stock in people, if they proved worthy. She was still young.

His next stop would be to speak with Genya. She cared for the girl – enough to negate the work she had done, the goals they shared, the torture she had endured at the hands of that worthless pile of flesh that occupied the throne? He doubted it. Genya could be sentimental and headstrong, but she was a survivor, a calculated strategist, someone who saw the larger picture of things, and she was not so impulsive that she would have helped Alina put this disappearance together without the time to think it over. If he was wrong, he would see it in her face the moment she saw him. She played well in the lies and falsehoods of the court, but it was a rare person who could hide anything from him.

To his surprise, the drawer of the dresser was not empty. Underneath a disorganized heap of socks and gloves was a book. Small, red, titled in gold. Expensive. _Istorii Sankt'ya,_ The Lives of Saints. Hidden as it was, if sloppily and poorly, it must have had some meaning to her. But not so much that she couldn't be parted from it; even the dagger she had taken from the body of the Fjerdan assassin was gone.

If Alina had any religious inclinations, she would have had to hide them masterfully. She wasn't that good at lying. If she had faith, it would not be in anything so insubstantial as peasant superstition. He knew the poor and lonely often clung to their Saints, but when Keramzin had been investigated and its staff questioned, religion had not been found to be an integral part of their wards' upbringing.

He opened the book and found her name written in the cover – in the Apparat's hand. By all accounts, Alina couldn't stand the man. Perhaps it had been buried not because it was treasured, but because it was loathed. But then why keep it at all? He flipped through the pages. It appeared to be nothing but a series of detailed, colored illustrations of Saints. He wondered if the priest had given it to her before or after he had been warned to stay away from Alina. He doubted the man would have been the one to help her escape, but it was something to consider. He was a very particular kind of zealot.

 

 

  
He lounged in a chair next to his fireplace, eyes distant, fingers drumming on the arm rest, allowing his mind to wander.

Genya knew nothing. The Apparat knew nothing. He'd had to do no more than meet their eyes to know it. They held no new secrets or fears - none that pertained to him, at least.

Alina's companions among the Grisha had not aided her. None among his guard had aided her. Servants had not aided her, palace guards had not aided her.

But Alina had not done this on her own.

The servant who had been stationed outside her door had been useless. He was given written orders by another servant, and neither that woman nor the note could be traced to any source. Whoever was behind this was careful, and had been planning it for some time. How had they known to get to Alina on the very night she would find a reason to leave? He had considered the possibility that the note had been a lie or a forgery, but it explained her presence and demeanor, even their topic of conversation the night of the fete, too well. Anyone she might have spoken with that night had been eliminated as a suspect. Anyone with the kind of access that would have been needed to watch her that closely had been eliminated as a suspect. The tracker and his unit had been hours out by the time the Darkling had found her waiting for him in his chambers. There was no one left.

Now of all times, when they had been so close. The very night they had found the-

The Darkling's fingers stilled.

No. No, that wasn't possible. She would never. . . .

And yet, it dawned on him with a numbing sort of queasiness, it would make sense as nothing else he'd considered would. She would have the means. She would have the ability, the access. He knew she disagreed with his plans, but to go this far. . . _why?_

He pushed out of the chair and left through the secret passage that went from his bed chamber to the outside of the Little Palace, very near a narrow path through the woods that would take him where he wanted to go.

 

 

  
He found his mother standing in front of her fireplace, hunched and leaning on her cane, seeking warmth that would never penetrate deep enough, never sink far enough to banish the chill of centuries spent cut off from her power. He respected it, but had long ago ceased feeling grateful for it. This was the very least of what the woman owed him.

Part of him wondered idly how many more centuries would have to pass for him to become accustomed to seeing her like this. He had known her far longer now as this withered thing than he had as the powerful, unbowed woman of his youth. But somehow, he could never stop seeing her as that fierce, beautiful creature, more a force of nature than a person, who had taught him what it was to be more than those around him.

It took her much longer than usual to tell him to stop letting the heat out.

It was all the confession he needed. She knew.

He walked inside and closed the door gently. “What have you done?” He asked quietly.

It was a long time before she answered. It was a game for them, this waiting. When all of time stretched out in front of you, what was the hurry? But he did not spend his time alone in a hut. He spent his time among children, short-lived and impatient. Their pace sometimes wore off on him. It was a good lesson. A good way to remind himself of discipline, of the power of simple patience. The most effective interrogations he had ever conducted had almost always involved, in the end, simply standing and waiting calmly until they spilled the secrets he was after, and often more than he had been seeking.

They knew they stood in the presence of their better, even if only as a whisper in the backs of their minds.

“What needed to be done,” Baghra replied, her voice weary as he had not heard it in a long, long while.

She had already all but confirmed that she had been aware of, if not involved in Alina's departure. Still, he was surprised, even shocked at the feeling of betrayal that bloomed in his chest like a cluster of knives when she admitted it.

His fists clenched and he felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. “Where is she?”

“Headed somewhere far from you, little Darkling. If she does as she was told, she will hide her trail and you will be unable to pursue this madness any further.”

“Bold actions for someone who believed my plan hinges on a myth,” he nearly spat.

He gritted his teeth. After all this time, she was the only person in all the world who could still get a rise out of him.

She laughed, and it was a dry, bitter sound. “Oh, I knew he was real.” A wash of shock rolled through him. It was not a feeling he was accustomed to. “The great mysteries of the world are not for people hungry to abuse them, boy. They are not for the likes of you or I, or your pet Summoner.” She turned to face him, and there was nothing in her face but the shadow of strength and a sadness long since turned ancient. “I warned you centuries ago that your plan was folly. You did not listen. I warned you now that your plan was folly. You did not listen. What have I done? What I should have done long ago. I have stopped you before the laws of the world could exact a price you couldn't pay. This time, not even the lives of your people would be able to pay the price for you. I hoped you would listen to reason and abandon this catastrophic idiocy. But I knew. I know my son, boy. I knew you wouldn't listen, not when they found Morozova’s stag. How did it feel having your great treasure handed to you by an otkazat'sya?”

The muscle in his jaw jumped again.

She gave him a bitter smile. “No,” she went on, “I knew. I crushed the reason from you long ago.” A weary sadness like he had never seen on her rolled over her face. “So. I told your pet the truth. And then I sent her away.”

His face slackened and his eyes sharpened to dangerous points. “What do you mean you told her the truth?” His voice was dangerously quiet. Anyone else would have been quailing before him. But not the old woman.

“I mean I told her the truth,” she snapped. “Has arrogance made you deaf? I told her everything. Who you are, who I am, what you've done, what you want to do, and what you were going to do to her to get it.”

So the note had been a lie – there had been no book. That, at least, made some sense. The specifics of Morozova's amplifier should not exist anywhere outside of a journal long ago burned. But the letter hadn't been Baghra's idea, if she had even known of its existence. Her pride would never have allowed it.

Baghra scoffed. “She would leave for no less. And even then, I had to show her my power to get her to take the plugs from her ears. Give her a few hundred years, she'll be even more blind and stubborn than you are. But she saw it then. She saw the truth of we two. She saw the truth of what should not be.”

He smiled, and it was a hard, vicious thing. It matched the glacial fury in his quiet voice. “You spent so much more time with her than I did, but you failed to understand something, old woman.” His voice was full of spiteful hatred as he spoke the name. “You're slipping.”

“. . .Well?” She barked when he didn't go on. “Spit it out and let's get to why you really came here.”

The muscles around his eyes twitched. All these centuries and she still thought she could see right through him. What chafed more than anything else was that she almost always could. Perhaps weariness wasn't the only reason she continued to relegate herself to this solitary existence.

“Alina won't run,” he said slowly, letting superior, arrogant satisfaction into every syllable.

Baghra barked out a laugh. “She's done a fine job of pretending at it so far, then. She's already well out of your reach.”

“No, you misunderstand.” He chuckled darkly. “Perhaps she intended to run. Perhaps she still does.” He advanced on her, slow and deadly as a stalking predator. “But she craves power just as much as you or I ever did. She can cover it up in whatever name she likes, use whatever reason suits her false conscience to justify pursuing it, but she will go for Morozova’s stag. And when she does, I will be waiting.”

Something close to fear flitted over her face then, and it was immensely satisfying. “No." She barked out a laugh, a suspiciously transparent bluff. "She's young, she's stupid, she was blind, but she is not that foolish. She knows what's at stake. I made certain of it.”

He smiled, lips splitting over his teeth, and his eyes were cold, pitiless chips of quartz. “A perfect reason to seek the power to stop it, don't you think?”

He stood before her now, and she looked at him for a long moment before she spoke. When she did, a dim memory flashed through his mind of a time long, long ago when she was not quite so hard, not quite so cold. A time when, sometimes, even if only for brief moments, she had been a mother.

“Give this up, boy,” she whispered. He knew her incapable of the word “please,” but it was plain in her voice. “This is a line no man was meant to cross. I warned you once and you did not listen. You turned men to monsters and rent your country in two. Listen now. It isn't too late to go back.” Her next words were nearly a whisper. “I don't want to lose what's left of you.”

“Then you should not have allied yourself against me,” he spat. “You should not have _lied_ to me, Baghra. You taught me well. You succeeded in what you set out to do. I am everything you ever wanted me to be, and much, much more. And yet you question me, you defy me, you keep vital information from me, even as I do nothing but the work you intended. "I will unite this land. I will end the wars. I will protect our people, and nothing will stop me. Not even you.”

Baghra said nothing, only looked at him, and her face was almost pitying. It made him far angrier than it should have. She would never understand. She was not willing to do what was necessary, to see him do the very things she had raised him to do. Foolish, from the one who taught him to do whatever it took. Who taught him that mercy was a comforting tale told by people too weak or afraid or ignorant to do what was necessary. But she could not be allowed to interfere again. Not like this. It was well past time she learned that it was not her place.

“Your days of teaching are over,” he said. “I will select your attendant personally, and you will have no other visitors. You will not leave this hut unless I accompany you.”

She said nothing, and for a time, they merely stared at one another.

He was the one to break the silence. “Shall I show you, mother?” He said softly, almost gently. It had been so long since he had used the word, it felt foreign and grating. “Shall I show you what it feels like to be kept in the dark by the only person you trusted?”

Her eyes sharpened, but kept that edge of pity. “You will do to me whatever you will do. But you will never find that girl, and you will be spared the ruination of your soul. For that, take whatever price is demanded by the twisted sense of justice I taught you.”

He looked down at her for a long moment, face hardening and relaxing into its impassive mask. Then he raised his hands, and two strands of darkness coalesced in them. They gathered, then slithered down the folds of his kefta and toward the old woman.

She did not scream, even as they coiled into her eyes.

 

  
As his people crept into position, he kept the shadows thick under the cover of trees and scrub brush so the far edges of her net would not be disturbed. She was tired and weak, but he would take no chances. Not when everything he needed was so close. When they were in position, he bent the darkness about them so they would look like nothing more than clusters of plants.

They watched her enter the clearing with the tracker.

 

  
“I'm sorry it took me so long to see you, Alina. But I see you now.”

 _Idiot child. Take away his toy, and suddenly it's the only thing he wants._ The tracker had the looks of a Grisha, and for an otkazat'sya, that meant being accustomed to getting what, or more to the point _who_ he wanted.

This boy was nothing next to her. He was less than nothing. His speech was no more than the tantrum of a child unaccustomed to being denied every indulgence.

The tracker bent down to kiss her, and he felt himself tense. A fury so hot that he didn't even have the presence of mind to be caught off guard by it seared through him.

Alina jerked back, and he felt a stab of satisfaction, of pride. She saw. She knew. That boy was infinite nothingness. He was a traitor, weak, small-minded and afraid, and he could never know her or accept her. He was a petty lie behind pretty blue eyes that would wither to nothing before a single instant of her long life had passed.

And then he watched as she pushed up to the balls of her feet and pressed her lips to the tracker's.

For a moment, white heat burned through his veins, but he settled it quickly.

She was young. She was foolish. There had been a time when he had clung to pretty, flimsy lies, too. She would learn.

 

  
It walked into the clearing after most of its herd had emerged from the tree line.

It was beautiful.

The otkazat'sya archer he had selected stood at his right side. She raised her bow and silently nocked an arrow. Drew back the string.

He held up a hand and the woman kept her position, shot at the ready. _No,_ he thought. _Show me, Alina. Show me what you are._

 _Show me that you are like me,_ a voice in him thought, so small that he could pretend it wasn't there.

He found he scarcely breathed when the stag not only approached, but allowed Alina to walk up to it. To _touch_ it. It was ancient, made to endure and survive – it knew it was surrounded, and still it was so drawn to her that it would walk into the maw of a hunter just to meet with her. This girl, this stubborn, selfish, foolish girl, was everything he had been waiting for. He felt a wash of bitterness roll through him.

He saw something pass through Alina as she stroked the stag's muzzle with bare fingers and looked into its eyes. For a single moment, it seemed as if she and Morozova’s stag were the same creature. Lore. Myth. Centuries of stories and peasant superstition stood only a few feet away, sharing a moment perhaps greater than any before it, that would be swallowed by history and lost to time in a matter of moments. Another piece of legend to be remembered only by those who lived outside of time, outside of the world of Grisha and otkazat'sya. He had been right. The stag was meant for her. And she was meant to hand him the world.

Then, Alina broke the spell.

“No," she said. "No, Mal. He's. . . . We’ll find another way.”

His face hardened to a cold thing.

 _Weak._ She would learn. In time.

He gestured for the archer to fire.


	6. Reader questions: Ivan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't what I intended this "fic" to be for, but I wrote a freaking book in answer to a reader's questions on Ivan, so I figured. . . .
> 
> And now here we are.
> 
> (technically she asked for an Ivan POV, but since I don't know if/when I'll get around to it, I didn't want to leave her hanging.)

These are only my opinions; the only characters who were really altered by my meta edit to the Grisha world were Alina and Mal.

DL = the Darkling

 **What would an Ivan POV be like?**  
Probably made up of relatively short, clipped sentences. Everything very much to the point. I imagine most of the thoughts in his head to consist of observations of those around him, largely in the threat/usefulness assessment area, and insults about how everyone else is an idiot. I think Ivan seems like a character without much depth, but that that's deceptive - his apparent lack of depth _is_ his depth. He's "shallow" not because he's not capable of more, but because every ounce of him is invested in one or two things to the exclusion of all else. He's not dull (DL would never give him so much responsibility if he was); he's almost inhumanly focused. I wonder sometimes what he'd do if his goals were all actually achieved.

Ivan isn't stupid, but about anything that does't pertain to "the mission," he seems about as thick as a wall - I think he just doesn't give two s**ts unless he needs to. He cares about two things: revenge/fixing the state of the country, and the Darkling because he's the one who will make it all happen. His loyalty to both is absolute.

 **Ivan's thoughts on DL:**  
The above, plus he respects the man, he trusts the man, and I imagine both of those are big things in Ivan's world. And he will totally punch anyone in the teeth who says the DL is not the prettiest girl at school ever forever.

 **Ivan's thoughts on Baghra:**  
I don't know how to answer this one because I don't know if Ivan has been made privy to The Secret. 

If not, then probably just whatever, she's some old lady who lives alone in a hut and trains people sometimes. Not a threat, not an asset, not a person of interest, so who cares? 

If he does know (I doubt he does - what reason would DL have for telling him? None, that's what.), then I imagine she'd be a point of curiosity. What's she like? This was the woman who raised his hero, after all. He'd respect her, because all anyone has to do is hear two words come out of her mouth to know there's not a weak bone in her body. But he wouldn't try to get to know her or anything - she wants to live alone, and he's sure as shit not going to encroach on the desires of The Mother Of My Hero.

 **Ivan's thoughts on Genya:**  
Genya is hot (they totally did it in my world, definitely more than once). Genya is useful. Genya is loyal. Genya is not an idiot. Genya is marginally less annoying than most people. Genya can be trusted, but I will still watch her around DL because I watch everyone around DL because I will kill you all if you try to touch him.

 **Could Ivan have had feelings for Alina in Light and Steel/the first story?:**  
The short answer is no. I'll get to the less short answer in a moment.

 **Ivan's thoughts on Alina:**  
So, so many thoughts. I'll focus on the situation once she's been settled and training in Os Alta for several months. 

He appreciates her snark. It also annoys the shit out of him. She is far too casual around DL - he deserves much more respect than that. But he tolerates the girl, so Ivan will, too. She seems like she drags her feet, and he can't freaking stand that because who the hell are you to have so little gratitude when you have been singled out and honored by DL? Horrible wench. But he has learned that under that, she works harder than maybe anyone else besides him and DL. 

He sees in her a person who has grown accustomed to living in a world of personal loss, of making the choice to go without, and keeps herself apart from others as a result. He understands that. He learns that what she is is different from what she wants other people to think she is, different from the face she puts on (horribly clumsy sentence, but get what I mean?). That's something he understands, too - it's necessary in the DL's circle. 

She's solitary, like him. She cares about the mission, like him. She's reasonably intelligent, but still easy to maneuver. Not that anyone is hard for DL to maneuver (have I mentioned the case of hero worship yet?). She shows the ability to think things through. And there is something about her. . . . 

After her breakthrough with Baghra, she starts to carry herself differently. She starts to smile more, to look like a proper Grisha - even better than most of them, if he's being honest. Almost as good as him, in fact (I guarantee you that man is a narcissist), which is saying something. He starts to notice others gravitating toward her. They did it before, but that was just because she was a curiosity. Now it's something else, and he can't put his finger on it.

So **the less short answer to "could he have feelings for her?"** is maybe.  
There might have been a teeny, tiiiiiiiny little seed, and had everything gone differently, had she not run, defied the Darkling, fought them, etc., it might have started to germinate. But Ivan would never have touched her. First, because even though DL's interest in her was obviously just a manipulation (because OBVIOUSLY. He is so too good for her.), he does not touch what is the Darkling's. That's a universe far outside the realm of "here, let me consider this for even a second." I think that even had everything gone according to plan, DL's interest in her would have become hard to deny, even though DL, I don't think, would ever have come to actually care for her the way he does in the series as it is. 

So. There was maybe a seed. There was a universe wherein that seed could have sprouted into a teeny, tiny, adorable and sweet little plant. But in any universe where the Darkling exists and he and the Sun Summoner are opposite genders, or gay or bi or whatever, there likely would never, ever have been an Ivan and Alina (without even taking into account her side of things).

And that's how you end something on a happy note!

*cough*


	7. First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't _technically_ a spoiler, since everyone knows "my" series is Darkling  & Alina. But full disclosure: some version of this scene may make it into the third part of the trilogy. Warned: you have been it.
> 
> It's Alina and DL's first time.
> 
> It's a draft version, so there's a pinch of OOC, and some aspects and or parts of it are pretty weak.
> 
> It's likely to be a while yet before I get the next chapter of C & C up because a few reasons, so this is like. . .it's a snack. For while you wait for dinner.
> 
> You will notice striking, dare I say suspicious similarities between this piece and [this piece](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1895277) by the Grisha sempai.

He put a finger under my chin. “This won't hurt, Alina. I promise you.” For a moment, we simply lay there, holding one another's gaze.

I had pictured this many times in my life. Not with the Darkling, but the mechanics amounted to the same. In all the times I had imagined it, it had never, not once, taken anywhere near so long. He turned what I thought would be a fairly simple, straightforward procedure into a choreographed royal ballet. If not for the fact that I could feel his own desire through our connection, I may have thought more than once that he was toying with me and put a stop to it.

He touched every inch of my body before he even began undressing me. He peeled away my clothing slowly, and removed only the kefta from himself. Then he retraced his steps with fingertips, palms, breath, lips, tongue, teeth, fingernails. He alternated between touches so light I could barely feel them, and sudden, harsh grips and bites that made me gasp.

He undid the sash around his waist, stripped out of his shirt, and stepped out of his boots. He gave me a moment to take in the length of him, pale and muscled and lean. As he lowered himself over me again, I ran my fingertips over his chest and down the muscles of his stomach. He let his eyes flutter closed.

He coaxed my body, drove me higher and higher until I crashed over the edge, as he whispered words into my ear that I couldn't make out through the wave of heat and cold. When it was over, he brushed his fingertips and palms down my body as I came down, pressed kisses into my shoulders and throat and jaw as I tried to catch my breath, to remember up from down.

Then he began again. He raised the heat in my blood until I felt desperate, until he had to still my hips, pinning them under his free arm, then brought me down. He did this again, and again. And again. When my release finally came, it was longer and more powerful than the first, more intense than any I had ever felt, and I thought I might come undone. Just when I felt some semblance of thought returning, he slowly, gently pressed a finger into me, already coated in wetness. I gripped his shoulders and gasped, my neck bowing and my eyes squeezing shut.

“No, Alina,” he said, his deep voice long since gone rough. “Look at me. Look at me,” he coaxed, when I didn't comply.

With effort, I angled my face to him and forced my eyes open. I saw him through a haze of what seemed almost like blurred drunkenness, as if I couldn't make my eyes focus.

He had not lied; it didn't hurt. There was a sort of tightness, a pressure, but it wasn't pain, and beyond that I had no words to describe it. I felt a want, a need, so intense that for a moment I was overwhelmed with it. I didn't know _what_ I wanted, but I could make a good guess.

The moment the sensation washed through me, fierce and merciless as a wave crashing against a cliffside, a growl rumbled in his chest and he went rigid above me. I looked up in surprise to find him tight as a bow, his eyes squeezed shut and jaw clenched. I watched as he made himself take a breath. Once. Twice. Again. A fourth time. Then, finally, he opened his eyes. His pupils were massive black pools in the quartz gray of his eyes. They looked like they were made of liquid fire, and I felt the self-control he was summoning through our connection – it was still close to snapping.

_He felt it,_ I realized in shock. The wash of desire that had wrung through me. He had felt it. What would be left of the line between us after this was done? Would there be any line at all? I felt a pang of fear, but he leaned down and kissed me until I forgot it.

I had once read in a book, _A Grisha belongs to an amplifier as surely as an amplifier belongs to a Grisha._

He pulled away from me and I felt a moment of senseless panic before I realized he was only using the distance, and the motion of removing his trousers and socks, as a chance to calm himself. I felt a smug stab of pride that he needed to. 

I tried to prop myself up on my elbows to look at the whole of him, but he was back atop me before I could. I pouted silently, and he hid a grin as he bent down and pressed his mouth to the skin at the center of my chest.

As slowly as he had done everything else, he worked to relax my opening and my center. First with one finger, then a second, and eventually a third, each time making sure they were well coated and slick first. All the while he pressed kisses to me, drank in my skin, nibbled at my ears, my neck, let me feel the hardness of him against my thigh, murmured to me in languages I didn't understand.

I felt certain I was going to break open with need. My legs and my chin were trembling as if I were in a terrible cold by the time he brought me to another climax, his fingers still working inside of me. This one was hard and sharp, and I was certain I was going to come undone. It was almost the same feeling I got whenever I called on all my power and disappeared into it. He stayed with me, wringing the waves out as long as possible. The moment I began to come down, I felt his weight shift over me, and he gently, barely, pushed himself in.

I cried out, I dug my nails into his shoulders. I heard sounds somewhere between sobs and pleas and whimpers and tears, and I knew they were coming from me. Was I crying? Was I begging? I couldn't tell. Again, he coaxed my eyes open, made me look at him, watched carefully as he let me adjust to the feel of him, then again as he pressed in further, inching until he was all the way in. He watched me as he slowly drew himself back, then pressed into me as far as he could. Out again, in again, with painful slowness. If I closed my eyes for more than a moment, he stopped. But behind the barely restrained heat in his eyes I saw, through the slits of my own, what was undeniably study. He was watching for any sign of discomfort, and a swell of affection that made me almost uncomfortable rose up in me.

A satisfied, pleased sound rumbled deep in his chest and he bent down and kissed me deeply as he continued his excruciatingly slow pace. I clung to him, pulling, tugging, begging him with my lips and my limbs and the arching of my back to go faster, to give me more, but he was utterly pitiless, even as I felt the war he was waging in himself to hold back. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw and muttered things so garbled I couldn't even tell if he was speaking Ravkan.

Finally, _finally,_ at some signal I must have missed, he groaned, buried his face in my neck, let his weight press into my hips and body, and began to rock against me. As sensitized as I was, the feel of him brushing against the apex off my thighs was only just to the right side of painful. The feel of him inside. . . . I had no words for it. I couldn't imagine it was always like this. The world would cease to function. People would never leave their homes. 

I could feel him. Not just his body, but his own heat, desire, the pressure building under his skin, the weightless, satisfying tension of every muscle in his body clenched, the need, the pleasure rolling through him like scalding waves. 

It didn't hurt. It was alien, it was beyond strange, but it was some form of perfection that I had somehow gone my whole life without ever knowing about. In that moment, with his weight on me and the feel of him inside me, both of us liquid and rigid and me mindless with pleasure, I felt. . .whole.

“Please,” I heard myself whimper, cry. “Please.”

“Please what, Alina?” His voice was half breath and half grunt as he forced the low, rough words out around his thrusts.

A choked sob came from my throat. “I don't know,” I said desperately.

Gradually he began to move faster, though I could still feel him holding back, not pushing in as hard or as fast as his own body demanded, and dimly I became aware that the room was not as dark as it had been only a moment before. I opened my eyes and found his skin illuminated from below. I looked down toward the place where our bodies joined, and saw that I was glowing. I couldn't have stopped it if I had wanted to. I felt my skin begin to heat up and he loosed a sound of pleasure that set my veins to searing fire. He could feel the heat inside of me.

I did nothing to hold myself back after that.

When I peaked one last time, shattering in release, blinding light exploded throughout the room in time with the ragged, sobbing cry that tore through my throat like gravel. I had known pleasure in my life, even if only by my own hand, but even this was like nothing I could have imagined. I felt it in places I had never known could be touched, in reaches of my body I hadn't known I had. 

I felt my muscles contract in a tight rhythm where we were joined, and he gave a strangled sort of sound that was half moan and half cry. He went tight, rocking into me a few more times, each slower and shallower than the last, then stilled. He held himself above me on shaking arms, skin shining with sweat, hair plastered to his forehead, as we both drifted in a world outside ourselves.

I don't know how long we stayed like that. I don't know how long it took to remember that I had a body, or skin, or weight, but eventually, I remembered the feel of the bed under me. I felt cold wetness on my cheeks and in my hair. When had I been crying? I felt his weight, his welcome presence. Tremors ran through both of us. Muscles shook from exertion.

“A-” I tried to speak, but couldn't. I cleared my throat with pathetic weakness and tried again. “Aleksander,” I said raggedly. I slid my hands to his arms and gave a tug, so feeble I doubted he would have felt it if his body weren't still so alive. “Come here,” I rasped. “Come-” _Rest,_ I thought.

After a brief moment, he collapsed next to me and pulled me to him, front to front. He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, and I felt his lips trembling slightly, an echo of the tremors that still ran through me. He wrapped his arms around me, hooked a leg over me and used it to pull me closer, then left it there. I tucked my thigh between his.

“Alina,” he whispered, breathing hard. His fingers dug into me with a weakness that almost matched my own. He buried his face in my hair. “Alina.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this might kill the mood.
> 
> PSA: Sex the first time _does not_ need to be painful. Even if the hymen is in the picture. And it doesn't take five bajillion orgasms like in this story. The idea that a woman's first time has to hurt is right up there with "tomato will get rid of skunk smell." _(It really really doesn't.)_
> 
> Supplementary reading (except a video): [Adam Ruins Everything](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ikXim4wevc)
> 
> Prosthelytizing one-shot = completed.
> 
> P.S. If you need a skunk fix, look up the Mythbusters recipe. It's just water, dish soap, and hydrogen peroxide. My dog got it in the face one night; I can vouch for the miracle-like effectiveness. Family dog got it when I was a kid; I can also vouch for the complete uselessness of tomato.


	8. Alternate Life Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: This story now has [its own home.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11714979/chapters/26384961) I'll be posting any future chapters there.
> 
> Another "thank you so much for waiting for the next chapter ;_;" piece for y'all.
> 
> Two things about it:  
> (1): It's an AU of the Light and Steel universe. Same characters, different life choices.  
> (2): This is a first (1.5th) draft. Because frankly if I have any editing juice, it should be spent on one of my actual fics. So basically I'm just dicking around here because reasons.
> 
> I'm having great fun with this AU, so I'll definitely keep writing it. If any of you are way into it, holler and I'll post it, too.
> 
> As always, feel free to break out the red pens and constructive criticism and have a party. You won't hurt my feelings, I promise (ask my Beta - the more brutal, the better). Unless you're a dick about it, in which case you won't hurt my feelings so much as make me all crabby. But you guys are awesome, so I'm really only saying that in case some random person comes across this.

The directions lead me to what looked like an impressive schooner, at least to my untrained eye. I was hardly a sailor and had only been wandering the port towns for two months or so looking for the man. His ship, if the information I'd bought was to be believed, was sleek and graceful and in far better repair than the ships I was used to seeing. It looked like it would cut through the water like a shark.

I broke through the thickest part of the bustling crowd of men and cargo moving to and from the line of docked ships that ran farther to my left than I could see. Two men were talking at the foot of the schooner's gangplank. One, dressed in brown roughspun and looking more agitated by the moment, was talking to who I assumed could be no other than Sturmhond.

The captain - if the information I'd bought was reliable - stood on the tall side, his golden blond hair windswept but neatly trimmed. He was clean and well-groomed. His build was fit, and he barely looked older than I was. I felt my face prickle with angry heat; he was also uncommonly good-looking, and for a moment I was certain I'd been swindled, despite how careful I'd been. There was no way the man whispered about in hushed voices of respect, in bitterness and hunger inside Taverns and on darkened streets as the feared Sturmhond, Wolf of the Seas, was in his mid-twenties and looked more like a pampered merchant's boy than a hardened sea captain.

In the end, it was his garish teal frock coat that convinced me not to turn around right there and leave. I couldn't imagine more than one man having the stones to wear such a thing on the filthy docks of Western Ravka's largest port city. Besides, I hadn't put months of effort and all my coin into hunting the man down to turn away now. And this was the last option I even wanted to think about. I took a breath and walked forward.

"-not what we agreed on," the man in brown was saying agrily.

"I think you'll find that's exactly what we agreed on," the man I assumed was Sturmhond replied. His voice was light and unconcerned, and I immediately changed my assessment of him. He looked young, and he may well be, but there was a knife under his almost jolly tone. He had the timbre of someone who didn't didn't have to shout or be menacing to get what he wanted. The idiot talking to him didn't seem to be as observant as I was.

The pirate's eyes darted to me, clearly aware he had an audience even though I hung back in the crowd, but his attention stayed on the man before him as he went on.

"I flatter myself that my reputation is fairly well known, and that no part of it includes 'smuggles illegal cargo.' Not without agreeing to it first, anyway. The fact is you lied to me. You risked my crew, and my reputation. Bad form, and really not terribly smart. So what you got, once we managed to get back alive, thank you, was exactly what you paid for. If I picked up something extra for my trouble along the way, that's hardly any of your business. If this wasn't the result you were after, I suggest telling the captain you hire next time what it is you really want."

The man growled something in a language I'd come to recognize as Kerch, and lunged for Sturmhond. I leaned forward, a hand out and my lips parted in warning, but before I could so much as get a lungfull of air to shout, Sturmhond had unholstered a pistol and had it pressed to the man's forehead. The click of the hammer as he pulled it back was clear even over the noise. Through my net, I felt that his crew still. Some of them already had weapons drawn. Was it loyalty? Or were they used to this sort of trouble? And what in the name of all Saints did that mean I was about to get myself into?

Sturmhond cocked his head lightly at the man, gaze as focused as an eagle's. "I'd strongly suggest finding a healthier outlet for that temper, tovarishch. Poetry, perhaps. Or you could simply go spend the remainder of your money in the tavern like everyone else here. I think you'll find either option much more conducive to a long life. Though why you'd want one at this point, I'm not entirely sure, because frankly I don't see much of any point in you. Now if you take a moment to think, hard as I know that will be for you, you'll find that I've been more than generous under the circumstances." Abruptly, all good humor left his face, and when he spoke, his voice was hard and low. It erased any doubt that I wasn't looking at the right man. In the turn of a spun coin, Sturmhond became, frankly, terrifying. "Now, you should leave, before my good humor departs for the day."

The man obviously wanted to argue, but did nothing more than back away, slowly and stiffly, eyes on Sturmhond until he disappeared in the crowd.

The captain looked after him a moment before holstering his pistol in what I saw was a double chest harness, hidden carefully under his coat. As he did so, he asked in the light voice he'd used earlier, "Something I can help you with, lovely?"

I nearly jumped. Instead, I took one last deep breath and strode forward, hoping I looked as calm as I thought I did. I stopped in front of him, hand resting on the strap of my worn rucksack, just as he looked up. I was met with bright, clear hazel eyes.

"I was going to ask if you were Sturmhond, but after that show I find myself strangely convinced."

He tipped his head as if to touch the brim of a hat that wasn't there. "At your service. For the right price."

An odd thing to say to me, given that I knew I hardly looked better than a peasant. Maybe I'd underestimated how good I looked under a week's worth of grime.

Sturmhond held his hand out to me, and I met it, surprised to find rough callouses on his fingers and palms. He wasn't afraid of hard work, then. He pressed his lips to my knuckles politely and straightened up. He didn't move like a pirate, or a commoner. He stood too tall and every little gesture spoke of practiced grace, even under the rough artifice.

"I'm afraid if you have business," he said, "you'll have to make it quick. The tide turns soon, and I have places to be."

"That's actually perfect. I'm here for a job."

He straightened and his eyes took on a studying light. I knew exactly what he saw. A remarkably beautiful young woman, brown hair tied back into a messy knot, filthy and underfed, though healthy enough. I was hardly at my best. But then, I was here for work, not a pageant.

"Are you hungry, Miss. . . ?" he asked out of nowhere.

"Alina," I said.

"Are you hungry then, Alina? I never discuss business on an empty stomach."

I nodded, hiding my confusion, and saw a look flash behind his eyes. Likely he thought I was insane.

I was alright with that.

He held a hand out toward his ship and followed me up the gang plank. His crew took no notice for the most part, though there were a few curious glances. The people I could see looked healthy and clean, like their captain. Likewise, their clothes looked to be in decent repair. Most of them were on the young side, also like their captain.

Sturmhond ushered me through a door into quarters and invited to take a seat at a massive, ornately carved desk that looked like it belonged in the Grand Palace in Os Alta as opposed to a cabin on pirate ship, no matter how nice. Fresh fruit, cheese, and bread were all laid out on a breakfast tray before me, and he invited me to eat. I took a roll, careful not to look too eager despite the fact that my stomach was trying to knot itself out of existence from hunger. It was warm and soft. The pirate had fresh bread. But he did well for himself - probably he had someone get him fresh food at every port. I imagined fish and dry rations got old.

Sturmhond seemed content to lean back in his chair and intertwine his fingers over his flat stomach as I tore off small pieces of bread and chewed them slowly. All I wanted to do was stuff the whole thing in my mouth and swallow it like a duck, but I had a part to play. I held his gaze, waiting for him to speak, but also swept glances around his cabin. Every shelf, every surface had something on it, and like Sturmhond himself, each curio was remarkably well-kept and attractive.

I finished the roll and waited a polite amount of time before reaching for a piece of cheese. Despite his invitation, Sturmhond didn't touch the food. I had no illusions that he had an altruistic bone in his body, but I couldn't figure out what he might be playing at.

Finally he spoke, and I released a quiet but relieved breath. The silence had passed awkward halfway through my roll.

"What might you have to bring to my crew, Alina?" the captain asked. His tone was measured and careful, serious but light, friendly and also commanding. And he had the sort of eyes I'd come to avoid in my life; unlike most people, he seemed to really look at what was in front of him. And at the moment, that was me.

I shrugged one shoulder. "I'd say charm and good looks, but your reputation didn't really precede you on those fronts. Still, not everyone is properly charmed by a man. I could come in handy now and again." I grinned. Then, knowing he needed an actual answer, added, "I heard you hire Grisha."

"That would be illegal."

"Only if you're a citizen of Ravka. It's my understanding you operate more in. . . sovereign territories."

He considered me a moment. "Let's see what you can do, then."

I had to fight to keep surprise at the rapid turn off my face. "I didn't say I _was_ a Grisha."

"Then why would the rather scandalous rumor that I employ them have anything to do with whether or not I take on another mouth?"

I looked down. "I'm not going to insult you by telling you some sad tale. 'I'm an orphan, I've been tracking you down for months, I spent all my gold in the effort, you're my last hope, sun shines out of my arse,'" I said flippantly, waving a hand. Most of it was true, but he didn't need to know that. "So what I'll tell you is that you sound like a man I want to work for. In all seriousness I _have_ been looking for you. I come from Grisha," theoretically true - Grisha almost always had someone with the gift somewhere in their lineage, "and I like that you treat them like anybody else.

"You seem to care about Ravka." I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "So do I. But I deserted the military. It wasn't because I was scared, it was. . . for personal reasons. That doesn't mean I don't care about my country, that I don't still want to help it." For a long time now, in fact, I'd felt like I couldn't do _enough_ to help it, always chasing to make up for a shortcoming I had no control over. I knew there was no way I could save Ravka. Still, part of me felt like that was a personal failure. "I can do that on your ship, at least from time to time.

"So what can _I_ do? I'm military trained. I'm a Cartographer. My drawings are crap, but I know maps and geography and I have a good head for places. I'm not dumb or dull as a board, I can blend in almost anywhere, I keep my head in a fight and hit harder than you'd believe, and in all seriousness. . . well, I'm sure I don't have to tell you that having a pretty face really does come in handy. Mine just happens to be for hire."

He considered me in silence, and for a long time, the only sound in the cabin was the ticking of a shiny clock mounted on one of the walls and the shout of men on the docks. I held his gaze, but had to fight not to fidget while I did so.

"Do you have any experience onboard a ship?

". . .No."

He nodded. "Ever been at sea?"

". . .No. But I won't hurl in your boots if that's what you're worried about."

One corner of his lips twitched. Then abruptly, he leaned forward, got to his feet and strode past me. "You do have a decent face, Alina," I felt a prick of annoyance. _Decent?_ "and you're obviously a smart woman. But the fact is that I'm not looking for more help, and even if I was, I wouldn't subject my crew to a green, inexperienced woman when there are men with strong backs who know what they're doing looking for work on the dock below."

"You don't want someone temporary."

That made him pause and turn around. "Come again?"

I stood up. "You could hire someone out there who's bigger and stronger and knows what they're doing. But I'm not looking to work for a season and take off. I don't have a family to get back to or anyone who will miss me." I ignored the sharp stab in my chest. "I'm not afraid of Grisha and I'm not superstitious, so I won't care about working with them. I don't have opinions on how things should be done onboard a ship or my own way of doing them. A blank slate may take more work, but the payout for your investment is invaluable.

"What you do doesn't have a season. You go where you need to when you need to go, stay gone as long as you need to, and the more time someone is on your crew, the more you know what they can do and what you can count on them for."

He seemed to be listening, so I took a few steps toward him. "I'm not looking for something temporary. As long as you want me on your crew, you'll have me. You can't get that from the men on the docks."

He considered me openly. "Can you fight, Alina? Use a gun, a blade?"

My lips twitched. "The only training I have is what the army provided, and I was hardly a front-line combatant, but I do alright."

He looked unconvinced.

"You looked at me down on the docks like I was crazy when I agreed to come up here with you alone, easy as if you'd asked me to hold your hat rather than put myself in an idiotically dangerous situation. I also just told you that there's no one in the world who would miss me if I didn't come back. But you yourself pointed out that I'm obviously not stupid. So don't you wonder why I'd be so calm about showing you my neck like that?"

Appreciation flashed behind his eyes, but it was buried quickly back under the face of a man who was sizing up an unknown quantity. ". . .Alright, then. Show me what you can do."

I blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

He rolled his eyes. "Am I supposed to take your word for it that you can hold your own? I don't know if you can follow orders, I don't know your temperament, you have no experience or training, you're small, weak, and underfed. Combat prowess," his eyes flicked up and down my frame as if it were a joke, "is your only prayer. Now I've got things to do, like I said, so you've got ten seconds to impress me."

I was so taken aback that I had to give myself a shake.

"Five seconds."

Without thinking, I cocked my arm back and snapped it forward toward his face.

My fist hit his palm with a loud slap and he clamped his fingers around it with painful force.

"Impressively fast and strong given your condition, I'll grant you. But not nearly enough. Now, feel free to take as much food as you like, but it's time you should be going."

He turned around, boots clomping over the floor as he crossed the rest of the distance to the exit.

I saw my last chance shattering, and something inside of me snapped. All the hunger, the anger, a parade of idiot men who preferred to try to get into my trousers than treat my honestly as I made my way from town to town, the hopelessness of my situation, and, more than anything, the pain that had driven me to ruin my life in the first place reared up, and I did something very stupid.

I flung my hand up and summoned a perfect copy of myself in front of Sturmhond.

He froze. I made the copy smirk. Then I let it fall away.

Even from behind, I could tell he was stunned. Good. He turned and looked to the last place he'd seen me standing to find me right where he'd left me, my expression carefully blank. No anger, no desperation, just emptiness. If I let anything else through, I'd shatter, and he might get cut by the debris.

"How did you. . . ?"

With another wave of my hand, I made myself look exactly like him. His copy winked, then I let it fall.

Seconds ticked by and he said nothing. I lost patience and shoved past him, uttering, "Come on," and made my way back outside. I walked to the middle of the deck and turned to face him, crossing my arms, and I let my net flare wide.

"You have seven people on deck," I said as if reading a report. "At least one woman. Two are up in the rigging, one is over the side doing something to the hull, one is at the raised part of the ship at the aft, one is coiling a rope to my left, and the other two are drinking at the bow."

Sturmhond arched a brow at me. ". . .You said you had a mind for places, not inhuman observational skills. You weren't looking around when I brought you onboard."

"No, I wasn't. One of the men at the bow is about to sneeze."

Right on que, an agitated explosion of breath cut the air.

Now both of his brows were up, but I couldn't tell what he was thinking, if anything. He didn't look tongue-tied, but he wasn't saying anything, either, and that panic of being turned away was still up in me.

Growling quietly, I pushed my net to its limits.

"Two ships behind me away from the crowd is a couple kissing. Two children are playing nearby. This one's hardly impressive, but square crates are being loaded onto the ship. The man is wearing a hat, and a few paces into the crowd are three people arguing. . . .And one of the children just skinned a knee." I let my net drop away, fighting not to breathe hard from the effort of holding it so large.

A member of Sturmhond's crew had come up behind me as I had been talking, and after a moment, he nodded them in the direction of the railing. As Sturmhond and I held eye contact, the person made their way to the railing, looked in the direction I'd indicated, then turned back and gave Sturmhond a slow nod.

"You said you weren't Grisha," he said, voice disconcertingly even.

"Have you ever heard of a Grisha who can do what I just showed you?"

"No. But if you're not a Grisha, then what are you?"

"Someone who wants a job, Sturmhond. Working for you. Do I seem worth the extra effort now?"

After a moment, he crossed his arms and canted his head at me. "Are you on the run from someone, Alina?"

I blinked at him.

"You'll understand my suspicion at having someone with your skills dropped into my lap. More surprising is the fact that you need work at all."

"You know I would have figured a famous pirate to be a bit more of an opportunist," I remarked peevishly.

"There's a difference between an opportunist and someone stupid enough to walk into a setup."

"A setup for what?" I asked incredulously. "Giving you a secret weapon?"

"You could be a spy."

I snorted. "Now you're just insulting me."

"Fine. Fine. Then tell me why you're dressed in rags and look half starved when I know for a fact that the Darkling," I suppressed a shudder, "or the King of Ravka himself would impoverish half nation to get their hands on you."

I shrugged a shoulder petulantly. "I've never shown anyone else what I can do." It was close enough to the truth. Mal didn't count.

"Why?"

I huffed a breath, getting annoyed despite myself. "What would have happened to me if I had?" I asked more sharply than I intended. Forced into service, experimented on, sold for all I knew. . . . And that would have been _if_ I could have hidden the fact that I was a Summoner.

He said nothing else, so I shook my head, stymied. "I told you the truth. I'm a deserter. If I'm found, I'll be hung. If I show what I am to save my life, it's as good as gone, anyway. You have a few reputations, Sturmhond, and some of them were harder to track down than others. I'd never heard of you before a few months ago. But when I did, I started listening.

People hate you, they love you, they envy you, they fear you. But you don't hear rumors about other pirate captains being men who do seemingly patriotic things now and again. Who treat their crew fairly and don't care if they're not 'normal.' Frankly, you've treated me like a person and haven't tried to get me into bed, which after the months I've had, is a selling point in and of itself. And like I said, I don't hate my country. You don't seem to, either. If I don't work for you, the only option I have left is to try to scrape together enough gold to buy myself passage across the True Sea and never come back. Are those enough reasons for you?"

For a long, long moment, he just stared at me. So did everyone else on the deck. They'd all stopped what they were doing - one of the men in the rigging had even dropped to the deck so he could hear what was going on. Then Sturmhond uncrossed his arms and came up to me, stopping just inches away and holding my gaze. I couldn't tell if he was searching or challenging, but I made myself keep my shoulders back and not crumble under the look. I couldn't stop the thick swallow I took.

Abruptly, he held a hand out. "Welcome to the Volkvolny, Alina."

I gaped down at his hand, not quite believing that it was that easy after the fight he'd put up.

"Unless you've changed your mind in the last ten seconds," he added, sounding amused.

"No!" I hurried, gripping his hand and shaking it firmly. "No, I just. . . no." I laughed breathlessly and smiled up at him despite myself. To my surprise, he was smiling and it reached all the way up to his eyes, creasing the corners of the sun-soaked skin.

He stepped back again, still looking at me, his smile settling into a little grin. "Tamar!" he called.

The person who had looked over the railing for him came up and sketched a quick salute. Up close, she was most definitely a woman, but it was easy to confuse subtle things like gender with my net. "Kapitan," she said.

"Alina here will be bunking with you." His grin widened as if he was in on a joke. "And you get to train her."

". . . Da, Kapitan."

"Good," he boomed. "Now we really do need to pull anchor, so Alina, go find something else to eat so you don't faint before the day is out, and stay the hell out of the way. But pay attention."

"Of course," I stammered, and moved to do as I was told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tovarishch: original meaning was "business companion" or "travel (or other adventure) mate." 
> 
> Google translate apparently doesn't have the word "comrade" in its library, so I went spelunking into the interweb and Wikipedia gave me this word. Then I found comrade and verified that it did in fact basically mean "friend," buuuut by then I already liked tovarishch better.
> 
> P.S. Nikolai totally shook his hand out while he was following Alina out onto the deck


	9. radish turnip cake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if anyone will like this, but it had me in hysterics so I'm sharing it.
> 
> C & C is plugging away. I feel better now about the longer waits between chapters because I realized how gorramn massive they've gotten. Plus it's probably for the best because let's be honest: when I get to 100% original content town, that s**t ain't crankin' out fast!
> 
> *riding the quality over quantity train*

My Grisha Beta and I were dic***g around talking about different AU of my AU ideas. I'd link her for this, but she doesn't have an Ao3 account.

ANYWHEY, one of the AUs we came up with (I honestly don't remember who thought of it) was one where Mal is a pirate on Sturmhond's ship, and Alina meets both of them for the first time when she joints Sturmy's crew, and as a joke, she sent this to me and I thought it was gorramn hilarious.

. . . I feel like that was an awful lot of explanation for something that's really small and that this might feel anticlimactic now.

 

* * * * *

 

Ivan: why the fuck am i here  
Nikolai: hush sweet smol heartrender childe, lemme tell you a story of me and mal here  
Ivan: where’s the darkling? is he really in alina’s sex dungeon as a slave?  
Mal: anyway, so one day nikolai and i were sailing them seven seas  
Ivan: we only know about the true sea what are you saying  
Mal: and even though we weren’t gay for each other we would go gay for each other  
Nikolai: he right  
Mal: and so then came the day we met alina  
Ivan: so it’s true?  
Mal: why do you keep interrupting me you fucking radish turnip cake  
Nikolai: second that  
Ivan: i will RUPTURE YOUR HEARTS  
Mal & Nikolai: f u c k i n g c o m e a t m e b R O


	10. Alternate Life Choices pt. 2

I had taken to sitting on deck every night before bed – when I had day duty – and looking up at the stars. In camp, it had never been like this. There had been noise, the lights of fires, someone always looking over your shoulder. Out here, no one much cared what I did so long as I kept up my duties, and people seemed to know when you wanted to be alone, and they respected it. It was dark, it was quiet, and I sat for an hour sometimes just looking up, drawn to the points of light and dusted glow far up in the sky. Relaxed as had come to feel on the Volkvolny, it was hard not to call it to me sometimes. I compromised some nights by closing my eyes, face upturned, and just feeling the light of the stars around me, especially on new moons when the sunlight was all but gone from the night air. Starlight felt almost richer somehow, a subtle taste I almost had to reach for that the sun could never match with its warmth and fullness.

I still couldn't recognize many people on my net by their forms alone, but Sturmhond, with his size and ridiculous coat, had become easier to pick out than most. So when I felt someone approaching me, I knew who it was immediately. I heard him walk up and take a seat beside me, leaning his own back against the railing, one leg kicked out in front of him.

“You know,” he said conversationally, “I've heard that stargazing tends to be more effective with your eyes open.”

“A common misconception,” I replied. “But I won't hold it against you. You have so many other redeeming qualities, after all.”

I could hear the grin in his voice. “You are too kind, as ever.”

I snorted. “You wound me, Sturmhond. Keep those slanderous lies to yourself.”

I heard a breathy chuckle, and then we were both quiet for a time. I opened my eyes and, after a surreptitious glance at his profile, returned to taking in the sight above me.

It was too easy to feel. . . comfortable, here. Like I didn't have to be anything on this ship other than myself - which was saying something - and around Sturmhond in particular. He was a calm presence, smooth, and always had a joke or a quip at the ready. He didn't demand unless he had to. But still, there was no question who was in charge of the Volkvolny, or of the unquestionable loyalty of his crew. If the army had more commanders like him, Ravka might not still be at war.

“I'd like to know why you deserted, Alina,” Sturmhond said out of nowhere, and I couldn't quite make out what I heard in his voice.

I looked over at him curiously.

“I like to know the people I trust with my life,” he said simply, and after a level look at me, turned his own eyes up to the night sky.

I considered making any number of jokes, but thought better of it. His tone may be light, but the question and the likely reasons for asking it had to be anything but. As much as I had so quickly come to like it here, love it even, and wasn't that strange, it was easy to forget that to Sturmhond and his crew, I was still an unknown. Hardly an ideal situation on a “privateer’s” ship.

“It's really a rather boring story,” I hedged.

“I'm fine with that. I lead such an exciting life, sometimes I find boring rather refreshing. Breaks up all the adventure, you know. It’s like a palette cleanser.”

I shifted a little, suddenly uncomfortable with the idea of telling him. I wasn't sure why. “. . . I just. . . didn't have a place there anymore,” I said slowly.

He hummed thoughtfully. “Bad breakup, then? Or unrequited love, perhaps?” He said it so simply.

I nearly choked. “Who said that?”

I caught his grin. “You did, just now. But you didn't have to, lovely, not really. There were few enough reasons left that I haven’t ruled out, and don’t the worst decisions always come down to matters of the heart? That’s how it works in all the stories, anyway. Besides, the way you look sometimes while you stare out at the sea. . . well it was as obvious as my stunning good looks. So? Who was the cad? Or cadess. As you will.”

I snorted. He waited patiently for me to speak.

“My best friend,” I said quietly, hurt and embarrassment and confusion all knotting up in me. “We grew up together. 

“. . . . I'd been in love with him since I was fifteen. Probably longer; fifteen was just when I realized it. I never said anything, not until the night I left, and I'm still not sure what made me do it. If I hadn't, I'd probably just be heading back to Eastern Ravka with the rest of our unit right about now. 

“I'm not confused about whose fault the whole mess was. I was the one who never spoke up. But when I finally did, the night before our eighth trip through the Fold, he said he didn't feel the same. And he punctuated that by heading off for a night with a pretty Grisha girl who'd taken an interest in him as she passed us on the Vy outside of Kribursk.”

I saw him cringe sympathetically out of the corner of my eye and heard a quiet hissed intake of breath.

“I honestly don't know what made me snap that night,” I went on. “I think it was a combination of a few things, and not all of them had anything to do with Mal-”

“Mal?” Sturmhond interrupted, surprised. “Not Oretsev. Mal Oretsev? The tracker?”

I laughed bitterly, unsurprised that even at sea, his name was known. He was practically a legend in the First Army. “The very same. But he wasn't famous to me, he was just Mal. I knew him when he was short and fat and used to get his knuckles rapped for sneaking me sweets when I wouldn't eat.”

Sturmhond was looking at me, and I was looking anywhere but at him. He made a thoughtful sound. “I hope you won't become violently offended when I point out that your famous childhood friend was a moron. You've gotten fairly good since you put on weight on started training with Tamar, and roguishly handsome as bruises make me look, purple isn't really my color. You hit hard enough when you were half-starved as it was.”

“I know,” I grinned. “I saw you shaking out your hand when you followed me back out onto the deck.”

“I’m fairly certain it’s frowned upon for a crewman to spy on their own captain.”

“You weren’t my captain at the time, captain,” I replied with a sideways wink.

He huffed a chuckle. “As I was saying, you know how beautiful you are. Yes, you're also short-tempered, surly, glib, contrary, downright truculent when you're-”

“I thought you were arguing for me, not against,” I interrupted peevishly.

His lips quirked into one of the smiles I had come to love. “My point is, you're hardly a refined noblewoman, no. You're not delicate. But in my experience, 'delicate' is nothing more than a polite word for 'useless.' No man with half a brain wants the sort of woman who’s all guile and charm and grooming, as I’d wager you’d find from that Grisha he wandered off with. In the end, that sort is good for nothing but spending your coin and warming your bed. 

“That's fine for some, but anyone worth their salt - worth a woman something like you, more to the point - wants someone who has a mind of her own. Who'll tell him when he's being an idiot, who'll publicly humiliate him from time to time to keep him on his toes. A woman who gives as good as she gets, a partner in crime.”

I blinked at him, surprised. I could count on a few fingers the number of men I'd met who shared his view on the subject, and my heart fluttered strangely at finding out that he was one of them.

“So yes,” he went on. “You're difficult. And you have the fuse of a cat that’s about to be dropped into a tub of water. But you're also intelligent. You have a wit that's sharp and biting when you want it to be, and more impressively you know when you keep your mouth shut just as well as when someone needs a swift kick. You're tougher than many of the men I've known, but you're also kind. At least when no one's looking,” he amended with a grin.

“Top all that off with a face and figure that are almost as good as mine. . . .” He sighed as if beleaguered. “The only logical conclusion to draw is that your friend is a hopeless and irredeemable moron.” 

He chuckled. “Saints, I can't imagine being faced with you every day for the majority of my life and not making it my sworn mission to sweep you off your feet. Provided I could get you there before your fist made it to my jaw. I can't imagine you as a child, either. You must have been a holy terror.”

He was looking up at the stars again, smiling to himself, and even in the moonlight I could see the hairline creases at the corner of his eye, made more obvious by years of sun and salt spray. For just about the first time I could ever remember, I had no idea what to say.

As if he realized what he'd just said, the smile dropped from his face and I saw him tense almost imperceptibly. He didn't move otherwise. I could hardly breathe, waiting to see what he would say next. I hadn't imagined his words. But even if he'd been serious, admiration didn't mean. . . he had only been making a point, not saying that he _did_ want to sweep me off my feet. . . . Right? I felt a knife's twist in the space in my chest that Mal used to occupy.

I ducked my chin to hide my own face and cleared my throat. “As I'm sure the only reason you haven't been carried off by some lusty merchant's daughter is your obvious preference for planks and sails and heaving waves over heaving bosoms.”

I saw him relax fractionally, as if he'd been holding his breath. “I wouldn't say that,” he ventured, and though his voice sounded perfectly smooth, I would have sworn there was an edge of tension to it. “You'd be surprised the number of merchant's daughters who want everything _but_ a ring and a commitment.” He made a mournful sound. “I can't blame them though, really.” His hand stroked the line of his jaw to illustrate his point.

“No, you know more than anything, I bet it's your humility that gets to them,” I said. “Really, Sturmhond, you're such a paragon of the virtues in general that I'll bet you could be Apparat some day. Think of all the scandals you could start with the women at court.”

He chuckled as if at a joke I couldn't see. “Like I said. Noblewomen are more trouble than they're worth.”

“Well now that's awfully snobbish of you. And here I thought you were open-minded.”

“Open-minded and blind are worlds apart, lovely.”

I felt the rest of the tension leave me – if he was comfortable enough to go back to his nicknames, then everything would be fine.

“Seeing how very sage it makes me look to leave my people with nuggets of wisdom,” he said, pushing himself up, “I will take that as my cue. Ah, but Alina?”

I looked up at him, face half in shadow, half lit by the moon. “At the risk of over-stating, don't mistake one man's blindness for a summary of your worth, hmm? I know you're smarter than that, but I also know that we all have our blind spots, and if a torch you've held all your life getting snuffed out isn't one, I don't know what is. I've been all over the world, I've seen and done things I'd rather take to my grave, and I can honestly tell you: you're one of the good ones. Especially when you don't look like you want to murder someone for taking the last piece of fruit.”

I looked up at him, no idea what was on my face. He held my gaze for a moment, then sketched a shallow bow and made his way to his cabin, boots sounding quietly across the deck, whistling that off-tune melody he favored.

“I trust you’ve found the evening’s entertainment to your liking and can now get back to work with renewed vigor, Kozovna,” he called over his shoulder. “Which is fortunate, seeing as how the washing is backed up and needs someone to see to it before the end of the night.”

I cringed sympathetically as Kozovna, hidden behind the sails as he had slowed and then stopped his work so he could listen to us hastened back to his duties. I supposed I couldn't fault him for listening - the people onboard were nosy as anyone else, they were just discreet, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: This story now has [its own home.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11714979/chapters/26384961) I'll be posting any future chapters there.


	11. Alternate Life Choices 3

We seemed to wind up having chats alone together more often at night. It was always out in the open, there was never anything that could be mistaken for impropriety - Tamar said Sturmhond never touched crew - but there was something about it I found myself looking forward to. When he wasn't captain, when he was just Sturmhond, he was so easy to be with. Conversation flowed so well that hours would pass before I realized it. More than one morning I had to hold back the urge to threaten whoever woke us.  I shared a bunk, if you could call a room the size of a large wardrobe a "bunk," with Tamar. Until I could do anything on my own - poorly, more often than not - she and I were often together all hours of the day and night. She was a steady sort of presence, quiet but sharp and attentive. She didn't waste words and had a dry humor, which of course I appreciated. 

“Does it ever occur to you that people might know why you joke so much?” I asked idly of Sturmhond. We were on the quarterdeck tonight, which was the raised part at the back of the ship where the wheel sat, above Sturmhond's quarters.

“My boundless charm and wit? Hardly a state secret, lovely. And generally considered more of an asset than a piece of high-risk information.”

“No.” I gazed at him levelly, not reacting to the prodding compliment. Then I looked down. “I found something in a book once that I've never forgotten. Maybe because I thought it felt so familiar. 'Born of the sorrowful of heart, mirth was a crown upon his head; pride kept his twisted lips apart in jest, to hide a heart that bled.'” I waited, and when he said nothing, I finished the thought. “People who are whole and happy don't joke like we do. I just wondered if it ever bothered you that someone might see the card you were playing.”

Sturmhond was quiet then, and it was by far the longest I had ever heard the man go without saying something. “I hardly have to tell you how few people really pay attention, do I? Besides,” he added with a shrug, “there are worse covers.”

I nodded absently. “Like funny _and_ cranky?”

“Or funny and irresistible.”

“Funny and obnoxious? Funny and narcissistic? Over-blown ego, too much confidence, not nearly as handsome as he thinks he is?”

“You forgot the 'funny and' part of those last three.”

“Did I, though?”

“People who are in the middle of the ocean and can't swim shouldn't poke fun at men who can push them overboard without a second thought.”

“I don't have to be able to swim to be assured of my safety.”

“Oh? Is levitation another one of your secret powers? Because if so, I can think of several ways to make that work for me.”

“Who said anything about powers? All I have to do is take you with me when I go down.”

“Ahh, Alina, so cutthroat.” He sounded almost proud.

 

* * * * *

 

She picked up a pistol from her lap under the table and pointed it at Sturmhond, pulling the trigger back with a click.

The hush of swords being pulled from scabbards and the click of more pistols could be heard, but Sturmhond held up a hand, and they were reluctantly replaced.

“I know I haven't been doing this quite as long as you, sudarynya,” he said, “but in my experience, guns are usually reserved for a point further on in the negotiations process.”

“You have a reputation,” she said in her thick accent with the shrug of a shoulder. “Your crew has a reputation. You also get in the way of business. I'd much rather be the one to say I took you down than argue over some little trade.”

I heard the sound of large hammers being pulled into place behind us.

My eyes slid closed and I cursed silently. I hadn't had my net up – why would I? But I did now, and we were heavily outnumbered. At least eight men had rifles pointed at our backs.

We weren't going to get out of this.

Subtly, I leaned in to Tamar and uttered through tight lips, “Be ready to run.”

Her only reply was an almost imperceptible nod.

I let out a near-silent frustrated growl as Sturmhond continued to try - and fail - to talk his way out of this.

 _Saints take it,_ I thought, and shouted, “Close your eyes!”

Before the withered portmaster could properly yell at me to shut up, I summoned a blinding explosion of light directly in the center of the room, then closed it back off and shouted for Sturmhond and my fellow crewmen to run. There was only the smallest moment's disorientation before we were off. I flung a hand behind me, calling another burst of light into the room to buy us time as our boots clapped down the hall and out into the street. At Sturmhond's order, we scattered. I tried to follow Tamar, but he grabbed my arm and yanked me along with him down a dusty side road.

“I thought you said you weren't Grisha!” he said around the sounds of our feet beating a rhythm on the packed earth. He was angry, and he was focused. But there was a glint of something else underneath, and I could see his sharp mind already looking ten moves ahead.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” I panted.

“Stuff it, Alina, you just lit that room up like a flash bomb.”

“A what?” I asked, brow furrowing.

He growled. I had never seen him so uncomposed. “You know what I mean. You told me you weren't Grisha.”

“No,” I said around fast breaths, “what I said was, 'I didn't say I _was_ Grisha,' and 'have you ever heard of a Grisha who can do what I just showed you.' Is now really the time to be arguing semantics?” A bullet flew past at that moment, grazing my arm. I cried out around a curse and stumbled, hand clapping over the wound. Sturmhond slowed to help me, but I was already righting myself and waved him on.

We came to an alley - I grabbed his ridiculous coat and yanked him into the space between buildings. We ran to the end and I whipped around, casting us out of sight with a flip of my fingers.

Sturmhond made a noise in his throat. “Brilliant plan, Alina," he uttered. "Unless you remember that we're trying to make it _harder_ for them to catch up.”

I clapped my hand to his mouth, eyes riveted on the column of light at the head of they alley. “They won't be able to see us,” I whispered, so close that my lips brushed his ear, trying to hush my panting breaths, “but unless they've miraculously gone deaf, they will hear us if you don't shut up for once in your Saints-damned life.”

His eyes widened and he turned to look at me, but my own were still riveted on the head of the alley. The stomp of the men's boots grew louder, and just as they rounded the corner, I let my hand slip from Sturmhond's lips. We hardly even breathed.

“You said they came in here!” One man yelled in a low voice.

“You don't have eyes?” Another snapped back angrily. “You were staring at the same two backs I was!”

“How can you lose someone in that saintsforsaken bright color?”

“I don't know, just move. Split up, they won't have gotten far yet.”

In a clatter, the men hurried away. After a long moment, both Sturmhond and I sagged, strangled breaths puffing out of us. I let my back fall against a filthy wall. I noticed the alley smelled strongly of urine.

“Any other clever tricks in your arsenal I might like to know about?” He asked.

“That depends,” I answered coolly.

“On?”

“How long you have. I'm an orphan, Sturmhond, and I grew up with a best friend who liked to get into every kind of trouble imaginable. We had years of motivation to get inventive.”

Whether from strain or stress or sheer, idiot relief, we both crumbled and broke into laughter. Until my arm bumped the wall and I hissed, remembering my wound. I looked over, on the side opposite Sturmhond, to find a thick trail of blood soaking the outside of my sleeve all the way down and discovered that I had been more than nicked. I was a little lightheaded, in fact.

“. . . Well that's impressive,” I said just as I felt a fat drop of blood fall from one of my fingertips. “Apparently running for your life makes an excellent painkiller. We should tell the world. We'll be able to retire within the year.”

Sturmhond moved around to my other side to get a look. In my haze, I thought I saw his face go tight and. . . no. Worried? Sturmhond didn't do worried.

“Much as I do like varied streams of revenue, how about we make sure you don't bleed to death first. Can you keep us out of sight?”

“Not forever, but long enough to get to the ship. Provided I don't pass out. I'm thinking that,” I nodded to the trail of blood spots marring the otherwise pristine ground of the alley where we'd come in, and the small pool forming at my feet, “goes on for a little way. I feel like I downed too much kvas on an empty stomach.”

“Best get you back sooner rather than later, then," he said tightly. "Come on, lovely.” He held an arm out to me. He took one of my arms over his shoulders and held it there by my wrist, and wrapped his other arm around my waist. “Like that. There you go.” cast us back out of sight, then sagged against him unintentionally with a sudden wave of dizziness. It was so sharp that I didn't even feel him lift me into his arms and take off at a jog.

“Hey," I protested weakly, "put me down. I'm not a damn girl.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “No, Alina, you certainly are not," he whispered against my ear. "Just concentrate on keeping us out of sight. You'll forgive my forwardness, I just assumed it would be easier for you to do if you were conscious. And unless you like making people think their little town is haunted, you might also want to save the conversation for another time, fun as I'm sure you'd be to talk to while delirious.”

“. . . Ass,” I muttered. I let my head fall against his shoulder.

 

* * * * *

 

Sturmhond came in and exchanged quiet words with Dennet, a Corporalki Healer, before the man let himself out and the captain took up the seat by my cot. For a long time, he watched me and I carefully looked anywhere but at him.

“Here's normally where I'd say something leading like 'So, it seems you've been keeping secrets,' but that becomes sort of moot in this line of work. All the same, I can honestly say I've never come across one as impressive as yours.”

A muscle in my jaw twitched and I turned my face further away from him toward a tiny porthole in the side of the ship. “What happens now?” I asked.

“Who says anything has to happen?”

My head snapped toward him. “What?”

He smiled. “So she can be caught off guard.”

I scowled, but that only widened his smile. I wanted to throw something at his stupid, perfect teeth.

“One of the reasons you came to me was because I treat Grisha the same as I treat everyone else, right?”

I shifted myself to sit further up on the cot. “Yes, but I'm hardly a normal Grisha, am I? Everyone knows the legends. But I couldn't even summon light at night until I was almost twenty. I've been in the Fold eight times now. There's nothing I can do against it. I couldn't erase a square millimeter of it if I tried for a year.”

He nodded readily enough. “I don't blame you." I wondered if he meant it. "Especially not having some idea how much you value your freedom. What the Darkling or the King would have done to get their hands on you. . . .” He shook his head.

A thought occurred to me, spearing me with a jolt of fear. “You're not going to turn me in? You're not stupid, Sturmhond, you have to know how much you could get for me. You could start a bidding war between Ravka, Shu Han, Fjerda, and Kerch. You could sink this ship with that much gold.”

He laughed. “I think you might have our roles here confused. Traditionally, I would be the one scheming over how to profit from this and you'd be the one trying to talk me out of it. Besides, I prefer jewels. Much more reflective.”

I looked away. “I just don't want to be blindsided. I'd rather you tell me the truth and chain me up to keep me in line than betray me in the end when I'm not expecting it.”

“My dearest Alina, you _are_ a very beautiful woman, and I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it. But I hardly know you well enough to break out the chains.”

Despite myself, I blushed. As usual, I was so flustered by it that I felt my cheeks grow hotter still in frustration. Tentatively, not quite wanting to feel hopeful, I looked at him out of the corners of my eyes to find a cocky grin in place. “You're a pirate.”

“Privateer.”

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. You don't do sob stories, and you don't take on a threat unless you have something worthwhile to gain from it. I'd be worth a fortune handed over, so why are you pretending you're not going to? A shoddy deckhand doesn't outweigh profits like that, surely.”

He looked at me, and the serious light I rarely saw in his eyes slid into place. “Who says I don't have more to gain by keeping you with me than any fortune could be worth?”

I felt some of the blood drain from my face. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged, and the cool pirate was back in place. “In the span of five minutes, I saw you blind a group of men who wanted to kill us and turn two people invisible. You held that while you were passing out from blood loss. I've known a lot of Grisha with a lot more training than you have, fail to hold up under much better circumstances. That was on top of how invaluable you've proven at reconnaissance, and you'd be worth the trouble for that alone. I'd say you have what could arguably be called a valuable skill set. Especially in my line of work.”

He paused. “I won't hold you against your will, Alina. You're still a member of my crew. You're not a prisoner, and you're not merchandise. I don't deal in human traffic, no matter the prize. You're free to go if you like, just like anyone else on board." He paused again and looked me in the eyes. "But I hope you won't.”

A brash grin spread over his face. “Frankly I might have had a giddy fit or two thinking about what two minds like ours, with your powers, could come up with. The havoc we could wreak,” he said as if starry-eyed. “I can scarcely imagine more fun. Or profit. I'd say we'll be making that ship-sinking fortune look like it couldn't take down more than a paper boat.”

I snorted. I liked Sturmhond. I even trusted him. He may be a pirate and he may bend the rules to the point of shattering them, but he had more honor than I'd seen in most of the Commanders all the years I'd been in the army. I wasn't ready to believe he was holding onto me for altruistic reasons, but as long as his ship was a safe place for me. . . well, in the outside world, I was still a nobody orphan and a deserter. The fact was that this was still my best bet.

He was picking an imaginary piece of lint off his cuff and straightening the sleeve, but I felt like he was paying more attention to me than anything. “In fact, I'll tell you what. Since you outed yourself to save me, I'll offer you a secret in turn, if you'll promise to keep it between us.”

I nodded before I could even think about it, and far too eagerly.

He looked up at me, hazel eyes catching the glint of the lamp on the wall above my cot. “My name,” he said, and his smooth voice was quiet and serious. “Nikolai.”

I swallowed. It suited him, somehow. But the last thing I would do was compliment him on it. “Nice to meet you, Nikolai. I'm Alina Starkov.”

One side of his mouth quirked up. “Starkov. Good name.”

“You know if you're trying to compliment your way onto my luxury cot here, you're going to have to do better than that. I had to get shot for these prime accommodations, and I don't like to share.”

He grinned. “Noted, Alina.” Something about the way he shaped my name made me suppress a little shiver. But my face must have colored again, because the smile grew.

I scoffed. “Get out. Hasn't anyone ever told you sick people need their rest? I just took a bullet for you.”

“You're right. And since you did, I won't point out that since this is my ship, you might not want to try telling me where I can't go.”

“Bad ideas are my bread and water, kapitan.”

His smile was nearly a radiant thing, if only for a moment. “No wonder I like you.”

Gooseflesh rose on my arms at the odd feeling of pleasure those words illicited. Of all the people. . . . This arrogant pirate was the last person I would consider dallying with.

Well, the last person I would _decide_ to dally with, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote by Countee Cullen
> 
> UPDATE: This story now has [its own home.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11714979/chapters/26384961) I'll be posting any future chapters there.


End file.
